The case
by Angielima
Summary: When Mary has the baby, strange things start to happen. Sherlock feels that someone is running circles around him, getting closer and closer. They will strike soon, he knows. And when they do...He has to be ready. Hope you like it, it's my first fan-fic, so that's my excuse if it's terrible :)
1. The case opens

Disclaimer: I do not own the original characters of this story, only the baby's name.

Please comment, this is my first fanfic, and though not amazing hope it's okay.

Set about 7-8 months after John and Mary's wedding

Sherlock rolled over in bed, thinking. Of course, he thought all the time, but this was different. He wasn't thinking about a case. He wasn't even thinking of how best to annoy Mycroft. He was thinking about John's baby. He was afraid that when the couple became a threesome, Sherlock would be shut out. John had assured him countless times that this would not happen, but he was still worried. Eventually, he sat up, and went into the lounge. He was surprised to see the clock read 2:00 am. He hadn't thought he'd been in bed that long. He lay across the couch, and reached for his cigarettes before remembering that he'd thrown them all away when Mary had a coughing fit upon coming into the flat one day, and he remembered that smoke was bad for pregnant women. He sighed, and stood up again, looking for something to do. His eyes lit upon his violin, and he had an idea.

Four hours, nine minutes and twenty-eight seconds later, Sherlock put down his pencil and his violin, looked at the sheet of music and front of him, and smiled. Perfect. He brushed a lock of hair from his eyes, smudging pencil above his eyebrow, and blinked rapidly a couple of times. He was tired. He'd gone two nights without sleep, thinking, and it was getting to him. He stood up to go to bed, and Mrs Hudson walked in, a tray of tea in her hands. "Oh, Sherlock!" She said. "You're up already. Good. I want to talk to you." Sherlock groaned. "Mrs Hudson –" he began, but she cut him off. "I know that you're feeling a little worried about the baby, Sherlock." "I'm not –" he spluttered, but she cut him off again. "You're not the only one who can do deductions. You were up all night, either muttering to yourself and rolling around in bed, or playing violin! I love your music, dear, but it does disrupt one's sleep when it's played at 3:00 in the morning. He sighed. "Mrs Hudson, you know me. I just don't sleep well. And I was _not_ muttering!" She smiled obligingly. "Of course not, dear," she said. "Enjoy your tea."


	2. Becoming Human

Chapter two

Becoming Human

About a half hour later, there was a knock on his door. Sherlock stood up. "Mycroft." His brother nodded to him, and sat down. "I don't suppose there's any chance of Mrs Hudson's tea…? She does make the finest, you know." Sherlock arched his eyebrows. "No." Mycroft settled back. "I didn't think so. Sherlock, I have a case." "Busy. Too busy." It was Mycroft's turn to arch his eyebrows. "No, you're not. Especially as it concerns Mary Watson."

A few seconds later, Sherlock pushed past Mycroft, who was standing, and pulled on his coat. "But-" protested Mycroft. "I haven't told you what it is!" Sherlock whirled around, tying his scarf, and started talking very fast, still jogging out the door. "Mycroft, how thick do you think I am? Mary is nine months pregnant!" Sherlock hailed a taxi, gave the cabbie at the curb John's address and was gone.

John paced up and down. Outside, the gravel crunched under influence of heavy wheels. Sherlock had arrived. John raced out, and waited impatiently for it to park. Sherlock was even less patient, and he opened the door, leaping out and throwing some crumpled pounds back into the cab. "John!" Sherlock ran forward, and then inside with John. "She's in labour, Sherlock. She asked me to sit with you until it comes." Sherlock nodded his head slowly, fearfully. This was a time when his expansive brain, all his facts, they would not help him now. He joined John in pacing, waiting for the news. After about an hour of sitting, pacing, drinking tea and listening to Mary's pained cries, the midwife stuck her head out the door, and nodded at John. They both stood, and John motioned for Sherlock to sit down again. Sherlock did so, frightened, and waited. Hours, days, years seemed to pass, just listening to the screams of one of the people he loved most. Then, they slowed, quietened, and stopped altogether. Sherlock waited. And then – a baby's cries stilled his heart. Everything was okay. He waited again – he seemed to be doing that a lot – and then walked to the door and knocked. It was opened by a beaming John, so different from the one who had paced with him. "Come and see our baby daughter, Sherlock." Sherlock's eyes glistened, tears that threatened to fall. He didn't know what was wrong with him, but supposed he was becoming human.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own any of the Sherlock characters :(

Note: This chapter is very heavy stuff. If you don't like blood, DON'T read it! (However, if you don't, you won't understand much of the rest of the story)

Chapter three

Death is a part of life

His phone pinged, and he reached for it automatically, then realised with his hand halfway to his back pocket (when waiting for John and Mary, he had experimented with different places to put it) that it was a bit rude, and instead scratched his behind. He caught looks from both John and Mary, and coughed, embarrassed. "Sorry," he said. Mary laughed. "Just see what it says, Sherlock." He smiled gratefully, and pulled out his phone. It was from Lestrade.

_Meet me at Wall St. Fast. I have a case._

Sherlock looked up at the happy parents, and felt terrible. He never would have felt this way before John got married, but now he did. Guilty. "John." He said. "John, I've – I'm sorry. I have to go. Lestrade – " John nodded. "I understand, Sherlock." His face told a completely different story, but Sherlock had to go. He waved to Mary, and sprinted out, typing furiously on his phone as he went.

_Twenty minutes_

He ran to the main road, and then hailed another cab. "Wall street. I'll pay extra if you speed." The cabbie nodded, and took off. Within eighteen minutes and thirty eight seconds, the cab pulled in. He paid the right amount to the cabbie (which, in his mind, was far from the right amount) and sprinted to the spot where he could see the police cars, and lots of flashing lights. He skirted round the tape that was keeping out the public, and ducked inside. Lestrade and Donovan were waiting. "Sherlock," Said Lestrade, confused. "Where's John? Did you have another fight?" Sherlock shook his head. "No. He's just become a parent." Greg Lestrade's face changed completely. "But that's great! You must give him my – " He was cut off by the look on Sherlock's face. "Right, then. Down to business." He led Sherlock through the house, past the various people searching for fingerprints, the usual. They passed a bathroom and entered a large room, probably a master bedroom. "Oh my God..." Sherlock's face was a picture of confusion and disgust. There was blood everywhere, on the walls, on the floor, even on the door. And on the bed...Sherlock felt sick, and even scared. His stomach clenched, but he pulled together. "This is disgusting!" He exclaimed, waving his arms. He looked around at Lestrade and Donovan, and guessed what the confusion on their faces meant. _What happened? Has he suddenly acquired feelings? _ "Erm - what I meant, was I'll have a look at it. See if I can find…Clues." He took out his mini magnifying glass, and walked to the wall, feeling cliché. Words, images, mind notes popped up in his head as soon as he started to examine…The entrails. _Murder. Murder. Death. Birth (_what?)He pulled himself out of his mind palace, and started at his hands. "Sherlock?" Asked Greg, warily. "Are you okay? I know, it's pretty…Graphic." Sherlock whirled around. "Yes. Yes, I'm fine. Uh - Definitely a murder. Yes…" Greg nodded. "Yeah, Sherlock, um, it couldn't exactly have been a suicide, could it." Sherlock felt bile rise up his throat and made a beeline for the doorway. "Sorry, I'll be back in a minute, I-" He broke into a run, and just made it to the doorway before he started retching, and it took him a while to compose himself again.

"Sorry about that. Now, lets see the bed." Greg held out an arm to stop him. "Are you sure you want to do this case? I mean, it's pretty disturbing, but that never bothered you before," Sherlock pushed him aside, possibly a little too roughly. "Graham - " "Greg." "Whatever. Of course I want to do this case. Who wouldn't? I mean, death, blood, guts, death…" He trailed off, and his face went a little green again. "Just - let me take a look at the body." He bent over the bed, and pulled on the gloves Greg handed him. Soon they were covered in gore. He tried not to wrinkle his nose. There wasn't much left, however, and he wasn't sure what there was to find. As he was about to pull his gloves off (_with a snap) _he found something. Something that shouldn't be in a body. It was a note, wrapped in plastic wrap. He unwrapped it, hands shaking slightly. There were only a few words written on it, in black ballpoint.

_Death is a part of life_

_J.M_


End file.
